


Cinematics

by MissMairin



Series: First Meetings [2]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, First Meetings, Gen, Movie Night
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-24
Updated: 2015-03-24
Packaged: 2018-03-19 08:38:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3603576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissMairin/pseuds/MissMairin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ludwig works at a movie theater in order to pay his way through University. It's not that exciting, that is of course, until you find someone on the theater floor, crying their eyes out over a documentary.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cinematics

Ludwig sighed, hoping the day would pass by quicker, but he knew that it was futile. His day shift at the movie theater tended to drag on forever; Heaven knows being an usher for a small town cinema wasn’t exactly the dream job. However, going to graduate school required money, and money was money, no matter what boring job it came from.

 

So, with renewed energy at the thought of minimal loans, Ludwig entered the dark theater to clean up spilled popcorn and left over trash before the next movie began. Starting at the first row, he swiftly swept up any remaining popcorn and dragged the trashcan behind him. He dumped the trash he picked up, easily slipping into his cleaning routine.

 

Ludwig had finished the sixth row, and was about to move to the next section of seats when he heard a muffled sound. It sounded like crying, but everyone should have been gone by then: the previous movie had ended over fifteen minutes ago, including the credits. No one ever stays that long. Or, at least, without trying to theater-hop.

 

Against his better judgement, he sighed again and bent down, checking each row until he found the source of the sound. He stopped at the third-to-last row, noticing a lump huddled on the ground. The first thought that came to his mind, before he could even think to worry, was how utterly _disgusting_ that floor would be. There had been spilled soda, food, and who knows what else, inhabiting that floor, and that person had the _actual nerve_ to be crying on it?

 

Clearing his thoughts, Ludwig attempted to calm down and force himself to think logically. His job first, then worry about the person. People would be able to find their seats for the next movie in - he checked his watch - ten minutes. He hadn’t even finished clearing out the trash. Groaning in annoyance, he crouched down to face the person on the floor.

 

“Uh,” Ludwig cleared his throat, “I’m sorry, but people will be coming in for the next movie in a few minutes. You need to leave.”

 

The person looked up, tear streaks evident on their face, even in the darkness. A whimper, a sniffle, and a whole new wave of tears. Ludwig tensed, completely out of his comfort zone. He had no idea what to do with a crying person; this definitely wasn’t in the job requirements.

 

“B-but, it’s just so sad!” The person on the floor wailed, his arms flailing. Ludwig sighed in confusion and looked closer, somewhat surprised to see that the person was, indeed, a man. Of course, that didn’t really help the fact he was still crying. “The film! It broke my heart!”

 

“Um…” Ludwig responded, eyebrows furrowing as he attempted to remember what the previous movie had been. He held out his hand for the small man to take, pulling them both to a standing position. Once they were both upright, he dug around in his cleaning supplies for a tissue and generously handed it to the crying man. It was only then, when Ludwig randomly saw the paint spots dotted randomly on the other man’s hands and shirt, that he remembered what movie it was. “The Vincent van Gogh documentary?”

 

The man made some sort of noise, probably confirming that it was the documentary. He blew his nose, and wiped his eyes with his palms in an effort to calm himself down. Ludwig stared at him, confused and maybe just a little bit concerned for the man’s mental state.

 

“I’m really sorry to say this while you’re, uh, clearly upset, but you need to leave. A movie starts in a few minutes,” Ludwig repeated himself. The man nodded, sniffling again as he started to wobble towards the theater exit. A thought randomly occurred to Ludwig, and before the man could leave, he asked, “Why did a documentary about van Gogh make you cry?”

 

The man stopped in his tracks, only a few footsteps away from the exit, and Ludwig cursed himself.

 

“It was just too sad,” the man admitted, looking quite downcast. Noticing his new acquaintance's confused expression, he cleared his throat and clarified, “All van Gogh wanted to do was paint and be happy, but he wasn’t.”

 

“Isn’t that common knowledge?” Ludwig asked, leading the man towards the exit.

 

“It’s only commonly known that he committed suicide,” he replied and followed the usher to the doors, “There was so much more to the story, to his life.”

 

Ludwig sighed in relief once they reached the exit and the light from the theater hallways filtered inside. In all honesty, he was somewhat curious to hear the man’s explanation, but he really did need to clean the rest of the theater.

 

Before either of them were really committed to the conversation, Ludwig resigned himself to the fact he wouldn’t be able to get rid of this man, he interrupted, “Listen. If you wait out here a few minutes, I’ll finish cleaning and I’ll listen to your story.”

 

“The story,” he corrected, before smiling shyly and agreeing, “I’ll be here.”

 

True to his word, it only took a few minutes to clean nearly the entire theater, although it helped that it wasn’t horribly dirty. It’s not like movie-goers were expecting a completely spotless theater, either.

 

Ludwig hadn’t even made his presence known when he saw the man beaming at him, fidgeting in place. He was sure if they hadn’t met literally ten minutes ago, he would’ve been attacked with a hug. It was crazy, how quickly this person could go from a sobbing mess to acting like a child on Christmas.

 

“Hey!” he called out, skipping up to Ludwig. His two hands were behind his back, and though the man looked excited to be talking to someone new, it was as if he was nervous as well. “Well, I think I should probably tell you my name first, huh? I’m Feliciano, but you can call me Feli!”

 

“Feli,” Ludwig repeated, trying out the name, before slightly smiling. “You’re right. It’s much easier to refer to you as Feli in my mind than ‘that guy’. My name is Ludwig, but I have a feeling you already knew that.”

 

“Yup, I did,” Feliciano agreed, a mischievous glint in his eyes, “Unless you don’t have the right name tag. You’re not really Bob or something, are you?”

 

Ludwig snorted in amusement, shaking his head. They were quiet for a moment, watching people pass by, when he looked back to the other man. Gruffly, he requested, “So, Feli, are you going to tell me the story?”

 

It was really difficult not to smile when Feliciano’s face blossomed into a bright smile, as if no one had ever asked him such a simple question before. Maybe no one had.

 

“All he wanted was to paint and be happy, right?” Feliciano asked rhetorically, hands waving in the air as he talked animatedly, “He spent nearly his entire life just roaming the world, painting and sketching, looking for his spot in the world. You know what happened?”  
  


Ludwig shook his head.

 

“He made art his entire life, but he only sold one painting! Only one, in his entire lifetime! He was depressed and for years he spent drifting in and out of mental institutions, living with his brother, and being in one miserable relationship after the other,” Feliciano half ranted, half explained. His eyes were bright with passion, and he spoke enthusiastically, as if he was in front of a crowd. “Vincent van Gogh fell in love with so many women, they all had problems, and he thought he could fix them. If he couldn’t be happy, then maybe he could make someone else happy. That’s what he thought.”

 

Surprised, Ludwig himself entranced in not only the story, but the way it was being told, with so much emotion. It was like Feliciano actually knew van Gogh, actually understood his pain. Sure, it was impossible, but maybe van Gogh wouldn’t be so depressed if he knew even one person cared about him over a hundred years after his death.

 

“And he killed himself,” Ludwig finished softly.

 

“And he killed himself,” Feliciano agreed. The force of his speech had worn off significantly, and he was picking at his fingernails anxiously. He took a deep breath and continued, “He killed himself, dying in his brothers arms with the feeling of utter failure. It was only until after he died that he became famous, his paintings being featured in the best museums across the world.”

 

Ludwig nodded solemnly, he understood now, it made sense. It must be unbearable to love something so much but feel worthless and inferior at it. Even more so, if people finally valued the work only after death, when there was no way to know.

 

“You’re a painter,” he observed, looking at Feliciano. It was hard to ignore the way he flinched, like it was an accusation. Or maybe he flinched because he actually did understand van Gogh’s pain.

 

“I am,” Feliciano admitted slowly, carefully. He scratched at the paint on his skin, like it was some kind of blemish that no one should’ve known about.

 

The two men looked at each other, quietly and calculating. Ludwig knew he wanted to ask if the other felt like van Gogh, but he was scared: he was scared of the answer he might get. When Feliciano inhaled sharply, he tensed reflexively and waited.

 

“I’m a painter,” he repeated, this time a little more confidently. He straightened up, stopped picking at the paint splotches, and declared, “But I’m not depressed. I know I’m not the best artist; I’m not looking to sell my paintings and be famous world-wide. I’m happy with who I am right now, even if no one else is.”

 

“I see,” Ludwig commented, for the lack of anything better to say.

 

Feliciano cocked his head and smiled shyly at him. Chuckling, he admitted, “I know you wanted to ask that. Is that the answer you wanted?”

 

“It’s definitely not the answer I didn’t want,” Ludwig replied, before scrunching his face up in confusion, “If that makes sense.”

 

He laughed, “It does, at least to me.”

 

They stood there, in their little corner of the cinema, and watched people pass by. That’s one thing they had in common, even if they didn’t know it: they loved to watch other people. The two men were comfortable together, even in silence. Of course, those things never last long.

 

Feliciano jumped, startled, when a phone started beeping.

 

“Damn, sorry,” Ludwig apologized, frowning down at his phone. He read his text, and rubbed his temples in order to ease a headache that was quickly forming. Facing Feliciano, he quickly explained, “I’m sorry, but I’ve got to go help someone out at the ticket booth.”

 

“Okay!”

 

“Um…” Ludwig started, but wasn’t sure how to continue. Luckily for him, Feliciano was way ahead of him. Within seconds, a ripped piece of paper out of his sketchbook was shoved into Ludwig’s hand, complete with his phone number and everything.

 

“Here you go,” Feliciano smiled and gave him a quick hug.

  
He watched as Ludwig waved goodbye, turning around and jogging away. Taking out his phone, Feliciano went to the cinema’s website and browsed the movies for next week, smiling to himself. He’d have to go to the movies more often. 

**Author's Note:**

> Just if you happened to not know, theater-hop means paying for one movie but moving after the movie ends to another one, in the same theater, without paying.


End file.
